


that's what I was gonna say

by muuny



Series: the thing is, we think we have time [2]
Category: Catfish: The TV Show
Genre: Childishness, M/M, Miscommunication, a lil more angst maybe, max gets his shit together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 00:46:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4120350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muuny/pseuds/muuny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No offense," Zac says through an attractive mouthful of bread, cheese, and pepperoni, "but you look like shit."</p><p>A sigh breaks from Max, "I <i>feel</i> like shit."</p><p>Zac swallows, then goes in for another bite. </p><p>"So let's talk, then. Spill."</p>
            </blockquote>





	that's what I was gonna say

**Author's Note:**

> Part Two of [prompt](http://chibichibiusaa.tumblr.com/post/118342516586/omg-i-had-no-idea-you-wrote-that-mega-hot-nevax) sent by anon. <3

Max hits the road and leaves the hotel.

He has to.

He can't stay knowing Nev is in the very same building and does not want a single thing to do with him. It's nauseating to even think about.

During all this, Max learns a little something about himself. He now knows he can dish it out to Nev, but when Nev serves him the same course, he doesn't easily eat it up. It's an unbearable kind of hurt, and these are not feelings that cannot be dismissed and dusted under any mental rug, oh no. Max has to actually sit, grapple, and deal with these deplorable feelings. He is forced to confront these emotions and feel them cook and blister in the more tender, unused tissues of his heart.

Nev said he couldn't even _look_ at him. To his _face_. What kind of shit is that?

The drive home isn't so bad, just occupied with silence albeit the hum of the engine and his tornadic inner thoughts. He cannot help but wonder about many things.

Did Nev experience these emotions when Max so carelessly aired his feelings over the phone that night? Max wonders how Nev could even stand beside him and be graceful after basically being told from his best friend of many years that he was not his top priority.

He feels like a damn fool. If only he had shut up for two seconds and listened to Nev that evening. If only he didn’t have such a big antsy mouth. Maybe he wouldn’t feel this pathetic. Maybe he wouldn't be on the road headed home... Or, perhaps he would be, but with a smiling Nev in the passenger’s side for a change, all of his gleaming teeth reflecting the afternoon sun. And Max would watch him every chance he could in a mystic awe, the younger man pointing out miscellaneous things about his driving while rows of sun-drenched palm trees blur by. But his pearly whites are not the only things that’d captivate Max.

Nev’s smile. That wholesome, sincere, I’m-so-happy-to-be-spending-this-day-with-you smile. It humbles Max every time. The same goes for Nev’s hand that always seemed to find Max’s armrest. The hand Max oftentimes entertained the various scenarios of what would happen if he suddenly scooped it up one morning, noon or night and held it in his without a word more. But not so much to witness Nev’s reaction.

He strangely and strongly desired to know what his own would be.

But Max gets the hopeless feeling he’ll never know.

When he gets home, Max doesn’t even bother unpacking the few items he decided to bring along. He straggles in empty handed and drags his body into his loveseat. It's rather dark inside, but he does not mind the closed curtains. Sun is overrated right now, and he doesn’t desire to exacerbate the light headache between his eyes.

So, it’s just him once again. It’s the same old song that has been on replay these past three, Nev-less weeks. It’s so difficult to harmonize things because he doesn’t know what Nev wants from him. He apologized, but that obviously wasn’t enough. They’re not on speaking terms nor are they communicating effectively, and that little sit-down at breakfast time was certainly unproductive—and at the expense of his aching waist.

Max doesn’t know what to do. He needs a second opinion, but he’s selective about who he divulges his personal info to. Although not many know of his sudden, blossoming relationship with his co-host. The suspecting Dave, much like an irritated dad, is vocally fed up with the two of them so he’s out for the count. The one available ear he can talk off about the situation belongs to Zac Efron...

Max sits up straight.

Zac. The phone call.

It hits him; Max has to call him back. He unpockets his cell, scrolls through his "E" contacts, plucks out Zac and calls him up. There is a dial tone, and after the fourth ring, Max gets a _click_.

"You calling me back means Nev didn't chew your head off, so I'm not as worried now."

Max bellows with an honest laugh that clenches his gut.

"Nope. My head is completely un-chewed. I made it out in one piece."

"Good to hear. So, how'd everything go down?"

"Everything went down... not great," Max explains after a very pregnant pause. Nev might as well have bit his head off. He wouldn't be feeling what he feels now, for sure. Max would welcome that.

"Sadly, I figured as much. How bad?"

"Nev-not-wanting-to-look-at-me bad."

"Aw, damn. Really?"

"Unfortunately. The damage's been done."

"Man... Well, hey. I'm in town right now, and I've got nothin' scheduled for the rest of the day. Wanna grab lunch or something and talk about it?"

Max's face visibly brightens at the other's offer, "Sure!"

"I'm kinda in the mood for pizza, but it's whatever you want this time."

"Pizza actually sounds really good. I don't mind. Wait, instead of going out, why don't we eat at my place?"

"I won't be intruding?"

"Dude, it's just me. It's not like I've got a show to help shoot."

"And I want to help you fix that real soon. Anyway, sweet. I've got your address already, so that's one less thing. I'll try to be over in forty. Gotta drop something off and hopefully beat this noon traffic."

"Great. Then I'll see you when you get here."

"Ditto."

Max ends the call, beaming and hopeful. Company would be great. He really doesn't want to be alone with all the poison bleeding through his every passing thought. Zac will be a welcome distraction. He prepares for his friend’s visit, starting with opening all of the curtains.

Today might not suck so bad after all.

 

TTIWTWHT

 

_nev's residence…_

Nev kinda wishes he ate that bagel right about now. He didn't have much to eat that morning. Rather he couldn't, only managing a feeble bowl of cereal. His appetite's been significantly disrupted.

He is very much glad Dave gave them this time apart. Well, the two days are meant for him and Max to work through things, but that's already not off to the best start. He couldn't even deal with being at the hotel. Nev is without the mental and emotional strength to confront all the drama being next to Max has to bring. He needs to breathe and be alone. Nev’s chest aches when he hears the other's voice or feels the overpowering presence of his body heat and weighty pressure of his piercing eyes.

He craves the stillness that once was.

Nev slips off his slip-ons and neatly sets them to the left corner of his bed. Sighing, he boards the mattress and lays splayed on his backside.

A tight numbness clings to every bit of Nev's skin, and all at once. It is the same, familiar numbness that has kept him company many stale days and nights, ever since he and Max's relationship grew strained and unnecessarily complicated. Today, though, the sensation brings a pulse. It's a dull but painful and present pulse, throbbing straight below his ribs. Nev slugs onto his left side in a loose fetal position, arms holding himself together at his waist.

Max's stupid face is all he's been thinking about for what feels to be all his adult life. It's exhausting to have the same person consuming your every thought, dictating how you feel day by day with their actions, however sane or foolish. That's pretty pathetic, and Nev knows this full well, but the man means a lot to him, if not the very world. Max holds all the cards to his emotions and the damned idiot doesn't even know or seem to care. Especially after that phone call that night. He honestly looked forward to welcoming Max back, counting down to the very second he'd step foot on Cali soil again, but apparently Max had better things to do that night. Far better things than catch up with his supposed good friend. That's all Nev wanted that night. He was even willing to squash all the previous beef they'd collected over the duration of Max's departure with that one phone call.

Nope. Instead, when he hung up, Max was decidedly dead to him. But it hurt. And it still hurts. Max up and made off with a chunk of him, and in place of that chunk right now is a desperate, insatiable throb.

Nev cannot pinpoint the fateful moment in time when it happened, when the cleft of his heart parted and Max wormed his way inside and made it his squishy home, but he does know he harbors unbearable, irrevocable feelings for his best friend. Max just became brighter one day. His skin, his hair, his smile... Everything. And his voice suddenly causes every hair on Nev's person stand erect. It soothes his spirit. It's freeing. Max is a lot of things now. He is the drum of his heart. He is that invisible, electric current giving life to it's every beat. It's utterly terrifying to have one sole person possess that much influence—power—over him, but Nev wouldn't want anyone else swirling the ring of keys to his heart around their finger. He trusts Max that much. Again, scary.

The separation solidified and confirmed his oftentimes turbulent emotions. Day after day, he unearthed more reasons to fall further and further into the fizzy abyss of what people call—dare he say—love.

Is...

Is that what it is? Love?

Or is it the clutches of fear? Fear of what, Nev unfortunately knows. He absolutely knows what he's refusing to see, but Max's trip forked his eyelids back so he would confront their imminent future.

Nev's a smart man. Max will not always be by his side bagging catfish after catfish. What happens when it's all said and done? When the cameras disappear and the crew finds other shows to direct and produce and all seasons and episodes of Catfish: The TV Show are available via online streaming? Max will be long gone, too, a seasoned director, perhaps, because he works incredibly hard at all he takes on, and his talent will be noticed and revered. Nev's always told him that. He will be somewhere filming some other movie with some other A-list actors and actresses on the other side of the country if not the other side of the world.

And Nev will be an afterthought. Nev will be fond memories to recall on different hotel-room pillows. But Nev doesn’t want to leave this. He wants to do this forever. He wants to be by Max’s side forever. Want, want, want. Such a childish, selfish verb.

What about Max? What if Max wants to broaden his horizons? What if he wanted to be known by more than that grey-haired guy with the camera on that one MTV show? (“What’s it called? ‘Catfishing?’”) Nev got a little taste of what it will be like without his lucky silver fox warming his lap, and he didn’t like it at all. He wants to be that friend who will support him in all his endeavors, but if Max pulls another stunt like that in the foreseeable future, Nev cannot see himself being sane for months on end.

If you really love something, you must set it free, goes the saying. Nev isn’t ready for all that. He’s not ready to share Max with anyone.

He hasn't even shared _his_  heart.

 

TTIWTWHT

 

_max's residence..._

 

Time heals all wounds, they say. So does pizza, but that is a more known, concrete fact.

In anticipation of Zac's visit, Max calls in an order of two large pies to be delivered to his home from an impressive, authentic Italian pizzeria. Zac recommended them because of their brick oven taste, and Max figures he'll give 'em a try. They arrive promptly; Max skillfully carries them inside, pays the driver and bestows upon him a nice tip all with one hand. He deposits the boxes on his coffee table and peeks under both cardboard lids. The aroma is satisfactory enough. One is stamped all over with delightful, round slices of pepperoni, and the other is a signature special thick with four cheeses that is sure to have clogged someone's artery somewhere. Either way, they look delicious.

Max forks out a pair of paper cups and plates and situates them on top of the boxes. He admires his handy work, though it is sort of bittersweet. Two cups. Two plates. A heap of napkins. It got him to thinking... How many pizzas have him and Nev devoured around this table?

He doesn't get to brood over it for much too long. Zac knocks, arriving three minutes ahead of his promised time. Max skips to the door, seizes the knob, and pulls.

" _Maaax_ , my man," Zac greets with his arms open wide, affectionately dragging out his name.

"Zaaac!" Max mimics with just as much energy. The two wind their arms around the other in a firm bro-hug, lightly teetering from side to side. It really is great to see Zac again.

"I didn't come completely empty handed to the party," Zac pulls up his brown paper bag he had set down on the porch, "I brought drinks from the house."

"Soda?"

"Yup. And beer."

"It's not even noon yet, Zac."

"Hey. You need them more than I do. Don't worry, I'll help ya drink 'em," in a friendly fashion, Zac slaps him in the middle of his back, "but thanks for havin' me, dude. 'S good seeing you again."

"Same to you," Max side steps and ushers Zac inside, "c'mon in. You're gonna help me eat all this pizza, too."

Zac steps into his home. His light-colored eyes dart from wall to wall, surveying every minor and major detail with kind scrutiny.

"Nice pad. It's very... Max-y."

Max playfully cuts his eyes to the actor.

"Thanks?" Max leads him to the living area, "I'll give you a tour later, if you’re still up for it. But I'm literally starving right now."

"Likewise, my friend. I could smell pizza from the door," comments Zac, followed by a sigh of sheer happiness.

"Just wait till you see them."

With everything already set, Zac indeed gets to see for himself. They grab their respective plates, lift back the lids, and pile on slice after slice, as many as Max's bargain paper plates can brave. They settle down into either of the comfy bean bag seats Max and Nev usually lounged in on uneventful days. The television plays lowly, a present hum in their ears. Zac begins eating straightaway, relaxed as can be. Max visually inspects his pepperoni slice, deciding where he will bite first. Zac eyeballs him during his process, assessing Max's posture, demeanor, and sudden silence. He concludes that Max is the same ol' Max, but there is a significantly different air about him, and it's reeks of Nev Schulman.

"No offense," Zac says through an attractive mouthful of bread, cheese, and pepperoni, "but you look like shit."

A sigh breaks from Max, "I _feel_ like shit."

Zac swallows, then goes in for another bite.

"So let's talk, then. Spill."

Max peels a slice of pepperoni from the clingy cheese and relocates it elsewhere, as if strategically. The pizza looks coma-inducing by the rivulets of grease settled in the many cheese creases. He takes a bite, regardless, and begins relaying the happenings. It’s not easy regurgitating every last detail to Zac, because it forces Max to see how disrupted his relationship with Nev truly is.

A beer and another slice later, Max’s eyes are fixed on his socked feet.

“Today, just a few hours ago actually, was the first time I saw Nev in the months since I was away. He didn’t even look at me till we started filming the episode. When he did… I got the sense that he only did it ‘cause he had to, not because he wanted to. Definitely not because he missed me. I think that’s what hurts more than anything. ‘Cause despite all that had happened, I was really, really happy to see him again,” Max sighs and strokes the short hairs of his nape, “I've missed him, and it sucks knowing he hates me.”

Zac, sipping on his beer, disagrees.

“He doesn’t hate you, Max. That’s nonsense.”

“Sure seems like it. He even repeated what I told him over the phone the night of the party. The day before I left."

"This was before I came in?"

Max’s hanging head nods.

"And that waaas?"

"I told him my world didn't revolve around him."

Zac's visage clearly communicates, "Max, really?"

Max scratches his nape. He's ashamed of the hurtful remark now.

"Yeeeah... I realize now what that did to him. What it's still doing to him. The way I said it, it probably made him feel like he didn't mean anything to me. Like he wasn't important then, when that's not even close to the truth," Max continues to shovel through the packed soil of his damp feelings and yes, this is good, "he's very important to me. When he's unhappy, it doesn't matter if I'm shooting all the way in fucking Antarctica, I'm unhappy, too. It may not seem like it, but I think about his feelings consistently. I always put his needs first. I work my ass off for him. I do everything I can to support him and every last one of his crazy dreams. Hell I give him the extra blankets off my bed when he wants. I do all o' that. I'm… I’m such an asshole for saying what I said, but I do care for him. I care for him a lot."

"Buuut you just let him walk," Zac states.

Max's head snaps up, arms opened wide in defense, "I was shocked!"

"And that is totally understandable, but one thing's for certain: you gotta chase him. From the looks of things Nev's not gonna stop running from you—" Zac emphasizes with waving his half-eaten slice in a circular gesture, "—from _all_ this—if you don't catch him. He's pissed, and he's hurt on top of that. You may physically have to sit him down and talk to him if you ever want to make any sort of headway."

"Yeah, I see all that now," Max says with a roll of his eyes all for himself, "but you're right. Something's gotta be done. But knowing Nev, there's no way he's gonna contact me first."

"I think that's a safe prediction to make. For right now, though, it would be good to give him some space. Let him breathe for the rest of the day, then try again."

It wouldn’t be wise to corner Nev into anything he's not ready to deal with himself. Yet, Max longs to bring them together. More than anything he’s ever longed for in recent memory. They are one another’s complements and supports. Max’s just a sheet of construction paper by himself, bland and rigid. But Nev is the rainbow markers, the colored pencils, the glitter, the jewel bits… Nev makes him better. He shines, while Max, all rigid and strong, holds him up for all to see. They are a team.

A team, and more.

"If we do anything, it has to be tomorrow. Dave gave us till Thursday to get this mess resolved before we start filming again. I have to act soon."

“What do you plan on doing?”

“Something nice, of course. I’ve always wanted to cook for him. Just never had the time.”

“You’ve got no choice but to make that time now. Cooking sounds like an awesome way to go, though. Any ideas yet?”

“Breakfast. Definitely breakfast. Something simple, too,” Max grins, “I’ll let him choose, granted he doesn’t chew my head off before I even get started.” What a sight that would be.

"How sweet. Breakfast in bed, huh?"

The tips of Max’s ears tint with pink.

"I didn't say anything ‘bout a bed."

“‘S not a bad idea, though,” Zac says with a shrug, giving him the eye, “I’m sure Nev wouldn’t mind. Just a thought."

Max shyly rolls his eyes in his sockets, his body temperature increasing by a couple notches. He’s astounded by how quickly he envisions himself and Nev in that cozy atmosphere. But it’s not like he’s never been in a bed with Nev before. It’s certainly not like Nev’s never jumped on top of him to wake him up, his full, wriggly body spread atop his like a thick topping. The weight of his body, the pressure, the early-morning gruff in his voice coaxing him to get up… they are all elements that feed the kindling embers within Max. They’ve always danced around the line of innocence together, but Nev’s the one who’s more than happy to go all the way with a joke, or tentative touch. Max brushes off all of his playful flirtations for a reason. He doesn’t dick around with his heart. It’s all or nothing and nothing at all.

“I’ll call him,” Max announces. He dials Nev, and of course, he’s introduced to his recorded message at the seventh ring. No matter. He’ll leave a message for him. It's 2015. Who leaves let alone checks voicemails anymore, one may ask. Max doesn't have the leisure of being choosy, nor an array of options to select from. He'd rather leave something audible this time. Something bearing his voice, something with power.

"Heeey, Neeev... 'S Max. I know you one-hundred percent do not want to hear from me right about now. And... because of what happened and what I've said to you, I can completely understand why. But you know me, and it's not gonna be that easy to just shake me off. We've got a day and a half left, and I wanna make things right before then. Maybe it's selfish of me to ask, but I-I'll cut to the chase: I wanna make you breakfast tomorrow. Eight o' clock, my place. If you want me to pick you up, I will, and I'll fix whatever you want. It's all on me, so jus'... Call me back and let me know. Or text me, that’s cool, too. Hope to see you... Bye."

Max hangs up, expelling all negative thoughts in a lengthy, windy exhale. He has to be positive.

"And now we wait," says Zac, semi-dramatically.

"I just hope he shows."

"What if he doesn't?"

"I'll drag 'im up here myself."

"That's what I wanna hear. Be prepared, ‘cause you actually might have to,” Zac gives Max the side-eye, “and you never answered my question that night, you know."

"What question?" Max asks, momentarily perplexed. Zac smirks.

"Do you have feelings for Nev?" he delicately questions for the second time, a slight rephrase from the word ‘like,’ but essentially the same deal.

Max does not have any champagne to choke on this time. Maybe that's what it's always been. Feelings. Feelings of like? Of love? He fixes his mouth into many shapes to respond to the question, but not a sound is made.

"I... I'm not sure if that's what it is," is what he settles on, averting his gaze. It’s a bullshit answer, but he needs more time to think. Or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he just doesn’t want to say.

Zac appropriately throws his hands to the ceiling.

"Oh come _on_ , maaan. You were gushing about this guy for two minutes straight."

"I know, but it's not that simple—"

"And you're not making it any simpler, but let me show you how simple this actually is: if Nev started to actually get serious with someone else—and remember, that someone is not named Max Joseph—could you comfortably sit back, watch it all, and wholeheartedly say to him, 'I wish you both all the best.'"

Max laughs at the scenario. Zac created an absurd hypothetical, and that’s exactly what it is. A hypothetical. Because it will always be Max and Nev. There is no room for anyone else. There never will be.

“It wouldn’t last long,” Max strikes.

“Why?”

“Because…” Because Max would go crazy. He would be mentally and emotionally bound to a continuous downward vortex of depression, forever pretending to be happy for his best friend and his newfound love only to privately suffer with all of the feelings that were rightfully Nev’s that he’s tried to asphyxiate over the years. He would have to avoid Nev. He’d have to make excuses not to meet up, not to hang out. Ultimately, he would have to dissever their relationship. He’d mourn his loss and have no one to blame but himself.

Max is silent. It’s not so funny now. Zac pats him on his back, alarmed by the man’s stricken expression.

"My point exactly. There's something there."

"He's my best friend."

"That’s even better, so your point? Max, you totally have feelings for that man. I'm sitting here looking at you and listening to you talk about Nev, and I know you feel for him. You know it and I know it. And I am a thousand percent certain Nev has the same feelings for you, too. Strong feelings. But for whatever ridiculous reason, you don't want to own yours. You've probably never owned up to them, from what I sense. Maybe it’s just how you are, but it’s not fair to him. Nev's very expressive with what he feels for you, and he looks the type to mean every word he says. Do you ever let him know what he means to you?"

"Not too often."

"And how d'you think that makes Nev feel?"

"...Probably like shit."

Zac swallows some of his beer.

"You've got a great guy, Max. And you get to work with him, no less. Tell him that from time to time. Let him know you appreciate him rather than just assume he knows. Some people need to be told these things. Quit thinking so much, be honest with yourself and what you feel, and don't fuck this up is all I'm sayin'."

And when Zac is long gone, when his gaming consoles are all played out, when the sun has long since sunk behind the horizon, Max is wide awake, backstroking through his sea of tumultuous thoughts.

“Don't fuck this up" ricochets off of the inner walls of his skull, and he doesn’t intend to.

 

TTIWTWHT

 

_tuesday; next morning, nev's residence, 9:49  a.m...._

 

8:00 A.M.

...

8:24 A.M.

...

8:47 A.M.

...

9:01 A.M.

Max had never watched a clock to death like he did that morning. In short, Nev was a no-show. No surprise there; however, that chucked a colossal monkey wrench into Max’s blueprint for that morning. The plan was to prepare Nev whatever he desired to eat—who disses free breakfast?—but how was that supposed to happen with Nev being totally absent?

There were no other options: Breakfast will come to him. Max up and drove to Nev’s, tenderizing his lower lip with restless teeth the entire way. Yes, he was relatively upset. Nev probably refused to listen to the voicemail and ignore him altogether, not knowing the treat he had in store. Max used the spare key Nev lent him in their better days to enter his quarters. When he gained access, he stormed in like a silver typhoon, ready to blow him out of the water. He was ready to yell. Scream. Have a conniption.

But Max does neither when his eyes lock spot-on to a nest of dark locks peeking above a cotton comforter. It’s the first thing his eyes settle on; the breathing lump comes in second. Nev’s blanket is hiked high over his face like the true nature of a child. It’s cute—a special, grown-man type of cute—and all of his frustration slowly flushes away.

"Nev," Max tries, a little mild. He approaches the bed...

Nothing. Not even a notable change in Nev’s breathing.

“Neeev,” he calls again with a tad more bass. Nev shrivels, kinda like a dying plant, and nestles deeper into the pillowy comfort of his thick cake of covers. It's unclear to Max if the younger actually heard him and is naturally ignoring his call, or if he's just honestly tired. But Nev is rather good about popping up at the sound of the alarm. If the duo was out on the road, the roles would certainly be reversed. Maybe he didn't catch enough Z’s.

Whatever. Max woke up much too early for his liking, endured stupid drivers on the road, and wove through endless lanes of morning traffic to cook this breakfast, and that's what he's going to do. So Nev needs to wake the hell up.

Max strips Nev of his blissful cocoon of blankets. That's sure to get his message across. And it does. Good thing he's not naked.

Expectedly, Nev is not at all pleased. He emanates a disgruntled groan and defensively curls his long and now fairly cold legs into his own warmth. His eyelids struggle open, unveiling dreamy, deep brown, "What. The _hell_."

"Finally."

Nev peers at the elder male through a mess of tangled eyelashes, a third of him still bound by sleep, the other third confounded, and the last third detectably ticked. It’s all charming in it’s own way.

"Max?"

"That's my name," Max responds, taking it upon himself to ever so courteously open all of Nev's curtains, permitting the unforgiving beams of white to illuminate his otherwise shadowy domain, "now get up, I'm startin' breakfast soon."

"The hell're you _doin'_ here?" he asks with bent brows.

"You don't listen at all, do you?"

Nev struggles up from his mattress.

"What are you doing in my _house?_ "

"Doesn't matter. But I would like to know what you'd like to eat this morning. So when you've decided to stop pestering me with your half-conscious questions, I'll be in the kitchen."

Max leaves, granting Nev some time to make the rest of himself up. First step, Nev’s pantry. They're always on the run, so stocking up on groceries isn't even a priority on Nev's mental list of important things to do, but _this_. This is borderline starvation. What does he eat? Does he order out all the time when he's actually home? Max's pantry's a little on the thin side, too, but nothing compared to how spacious Nev's is.

After a minute of digging around, Nev surfaces from the deep depths of his bedroom, clad in a snug, charcoal tee and some loose-fitting lazy bottoms. He's got his cell in tow, nose-deep into its screen as he plants himself into an open bar chair somewhat close in relation to the kitchen, to Max.

“When’s the last time you went shopping for food?” Max asks. He was hoping for a single box of some instant breakfast mix to pop up somewhere. In hindsight, he should’ve brought along a couple things from his home, or at least stop by a food store before his visit. He was too upset to even think to do any of that.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember,” retorts Nev.

“Well what the hell am I supposed to cook?” Ramen for breakfast doesn’t sound too appetizing.

“I thought you would’ve had all that figured out?”

“I _did_ —the original plan was for breakfast to be at _my_ house, where there’s _food_. I didn’t factor in any of this.” And indeed he didn’t, but if he has to make that drive out to the nearest grocery in order to whip together a decent breakfast, he’ll do it. It will be a small inconvenience, but once he sets his mind up to accomplish something, he will execute.

Nev’s refrigerator’s more promising. He's got just enough raw ingredients to scrape up a few baby pancakes for the pair of them. Max assembles the flour, sugar, eggs, butter, and a couple bowls. He powers on the electrical stove and positions a pan on the flat, glowing eye. At least he keeps some of the essentials. Nev doesn't have regular maple syrup in stock, but the two bottles of blueberry syrup Max found in his pantry will suffice. And it's really odd, actually. He does not have much to begin with, but out of all things, why does he have two bottles of blueberry syrup?

"Pancakes sound alright?" he asks, "that's all I can make with the stuff you've got."

"Sure, whatever," Nev finally sets his phone in his lap and looks Max dead in his eyes, "had fun with Zac yesterday?"

Chills prickle Max’s skin.

"What are you talking about?"

"'Had a great time with my man @MaxJoseph. Missed that guy,'" Nev recites word for word, having memorized every specific detail of the actor's tweet, "plus two pizza emojis."

How did he know about that is the very first thing the fires off in Max’s brain, but then he remembers he lives in the twenty-first century where everyone knows where you are at any given time, and also where Twitter unfortunately exists. He hadn't checked his notifications thoroughly yet, either, so Zac must’ve mentioned him via tweet.

 _Damnit_ , Zac.

"Does it even matter?" Max spits, prepping the batter.

"Yes. It does matter. Seems you have the free time to hang out rather than do your actual job."

"'Actual job?' Don't act like you weren't out last night prancing around downtown at some club with Charlamagne." He hates to admit it, but Max stalks Nev's Twitter mentions. Only when it’s important; he thought he should point that out. He combines the wet and dry ingredients.

"He was right up the street, he asked me if I wanted to go, and I said yeah. What was I supposed to do? Tell him 'no' because I have to work things out with Max who's so very busy eating pizza and getting cozy with Zac Efron?"

Max begins to stir the thickening paste, "Please. Reconciling things with me was the last thing on your mind."

"And how do you know that?"

“You told me you didn’t even want to look at my face.”

“I didn’t, and I honestly I don’t want to now—”

"—Nev. Can we please not fight? I just wanna make you breakfast. That's it. That’s why I’m here, and that’s all I wanna do.”

Nev does not reply, and that’s what Max needs to finish cooking.

The pancakes turn out golden-brown, soft, and great. Nev drowns his stack in blueberry syrup. Max is fine with a heavy streak or two of the stuff. They eat in silence, neither one of them minding. Whenever they open their mouths only bickering follows. There is slurping, evidently from Nev. When the syrup gets to be too much for him and his silver utensil, Nev tediously laps up the dark droplets from the back and front of his drowned fork. Max is helplessly entranced.

"I bet you make pancakes for Zac, too," Nev suddenly alleges.

Max closes his eyes. Here we go.

"You do, don't you?"

"And? What's it matter to you? An’ why does everything stem back to Zac?"

Nev humps his shoulders, "You guys are such best buddies now, eating pizza privately together and all. I was just making a presumption."

"If he asked me to make him pancakes, I would." It is the very least he could do after all the trouble he’s dumped in his ears.

"I'm sure you would," Nev utters safely beneath his breath.

"And if you asked me to make you pancakes I would, too. You have yet to thank me for the ones I did make for you, by the way."

"Okay?"

"I bet Zac would be more grateful of them if I did," Max stings, and he knows he shouldn't have said that. Stuff like that's what got them here in the first place. But he did anyway, and it’s like Nev jumped into a different skin.

"How can I be grateful to someone who's barged into my house without my permission?"

"First of all, I called you and you didn't respond. I even left a message and I know for a fact that you didn’t listen to it. But despite all of that, I still wanted to do something nice for you so we'd at least try to get along. So I drove my ass all the way here, made you breakfast, and I don't even get a 'thank you.'"

"If all you want is a 'thank you' why don't you just waltz over to Zac's house and cook some for him, then? Problem solved."

"You are such an… You are a piece of work, Nev. This is the last time I try to do something for you."

Nev stands, eyes pointed.

"I didn't ask for you to do anything for me. I'll do whatever I want on my own, and I certainly don't need you breathing down my neck, Max. I'm not a child."

"So why am I here? Why am I doing this? Why am I trying so hard for someone who doesn't even want me around?"

"By no means am I making you stay here. You're free to leave any time. That's totally fine."

"No, this is it, Nev. No more leaving. I'm through with that. We're doin’ this now. Whether you want to or not."

"Oh alright," Nev throws his crumpled napkin into his blank plate, "then I'll leave. You can stay here with your damn pancakes for all I care."

He tears himself out of his chair. He beelines for his bedroom with zero utterances. Max’s body reacts faster than the command in his brain computes; he is right behind him in seconds. No. He will not allow this to repeat again. Not this time. And thanks to his quick footwork, Max sustains a foot or less of space between them all the way to the door frame. Nev attempts to seal his bedroom door shut, but it fails, bouncing off Max as he bursts into the room at just the right time. It ticks him off, nonetheless. This man _really_ tried to slam the door in his face.

Max fastens Nev to his bedroom wall with a purposeful thrust to both shoulders, urged on by all of his emotions. He applies an unyielding amount of pressure, in case Nev decides to put up a worthy fight.

Though he doesn’t. There’s no squirming, no complaining. This entirely new Nev is limp, arms stagnant and parallel to the wall while he catches his breath. He bears the spirit of a cornered, wounded animal, trapped and very accepting of its imminent fate. Max marks the exhaustion in the faint lines of his countenance, feels it from the energy radiating from his body, reads it from the clouds in his eyes... They confess to Max that he’s done with the running. He doesn’t want to run anymore.

Truth be told, Nev wanted this moment. Just them, all alone. No cameras, no mics. Just quiet. Vulnerable. Exposed. In fact, it couldn’t have been better. Contrary to whatever Max thought, Nev wanted the man to catch him all along. It hurt when he didn’t take those couple extra steps to stop him in the hall yesterday. It cut him more when he discovered he spent the rest of the day with Zac. Nev could only liken the feeling to being thrown away, like he wasn’t worth putting up the fight for. So he wants Max to dissect his every fiber to see that hurt he bred within him. He wants to feel him digging in the very marrow of his bones.

He wants Max to want him.

The atmosphere mellows with the rush of calm settling in. Max lets up his grip on Nev’s shoulders, but he does not let him go. All but three inches of air separate them from the other, but their heat intermingles, pouring like free water from their pores. Nev’s eyes flick from Max’s pair, then briefly to his parted lips, his nose, his eyes again, his lips… Swallowing does not ease his jitters. It only serves to delightfully worsen the weights in his heaving chest.

They lock eyes.

Max eases closer, detailing every pore of Nev’s shaven face, every crease and indent in his pink lips... He feels Nev’s every struggle for breath, every hot stream of air tumbling down his bare neck and sneaking underneath his shirt collar. That’s when the clouds part and the sun shines and Max realizes he has a gorgeous best friend. He’s known this for forever, really, but _Christ_ , now that he’s a quick nod from pressing lips, Max can appropriately appreciate the sharp contours of his visage that amplify his beauty. Although, the most beautiful parts of him are the brown gems in his precious head. His eyes tell all, and Max finds a wealth of untold revelations within their dark depths. He’s supposed to be sorting out the details of what’s been transpiring between them for all these months, not staring with longing at his best friend’s lips. But this, too, feels like something he should have done ages ago.

Max braves two inches closer and is literally on top of Nev. Chest to chest, hip to hip, Nev to wall.

Nev carefully lowers his eyelids upon contact, momentarily taking another shotty breath. Max’s natural musk is so concentrated and so heady right now he’s lightheaded. Like he could just sprout little wings and fly right on out of there. But Max keeps him grounded, grabs him up and holds him in one arm, his other hand brushing through the hairs of his nape. “Is this okay?” Max communicates to Nev solely with his eyes. Nev returns with silent, strong approval. God, he’s waited for this for so long. He’s been so patient for so very long, and all for Max. Never did Nev wish to force himself and his advances on the man and scare him away, but never did he envision Max’s solid body holding him against his bedroom wall like this. What’s gotten into him the past twenty-four hours, he’s not sure, but Nev will definitely ask questions later.

He needs this _now_.

Max’s lips take Nev’s— _takes_ them—and he swears all functions in his body stall for two, very intense moments. Something inside clicks in place. It’s like… the reunion of remnants from the same, expired star that had been long separated by thousands of millennia. Nev experiences a similar sensation, and he’s glad he’s got Max’s arms to support him, otherwise he’d spill to the floor.

While kissing Max, “wet” is the word that stands out. It’s wet. Very wet. Wet and slick and a billion times sexier than his imagination could have ever produced. There they are, Max kissing Nev into the wall as if he’s done it a-hundred-and-one times before. There’s something subconsciously natural about it. He thought he would be at least a bit nervous, or apprehensive, or downright petrified of the very thought of their mouth’s touching. But he stopped thinking, listened to Zac’s advice, and now he’s sucking the soul out of Nev and loving every second.

Nev holds on to Max’s biceps and meaningfully returns the waves of heavy kisses. The hand cradling his nape sinks into the dent of his spine, crawls all the way down, and halts at the hem of his thin shirt. Max sneaks that hand under the garment, sweeping his open hand about the small of his back. Nev whimpers into Max's mouth. The contrast of his hot skin in contact with Max’s cool palm is deliciously painful. Only in his daydreams does Max handle and touch him like this, but not even that compares to the pleasure of being caressed by his flesh.

If past-Max knew what present-Max would be feeling now, he would have made Nev his years ago. He could have always had this. This is what he wants, and perhaps, this has always been what he’s wanted. But just when he’s beginning to accept his dormant feelings, Nev frantically pushes Max clean off of him. The latter, having lost his firm footing, almost falls flat on his ass. He recovers just in time.

“Nev?”

“You need to leave,” he says in a rushed breath, hastily wiping his glowing, swollen lips dry with the side of his hand.

Max blinks like he’s been struck with a slab of steel.

“......... _What?_ ”

“You need to leave,” Nev repeats. He flattens out the wrinkles in his shirt after shoving it back over his midriff. Max has no idea what to do, or how to react to this twist. Was he really being serious? After all that has just happened, Nev wants him out? Were they moving too fast with... whatever this is they've created? But Nev was kissing him back as energetically as he was, so that couldn’t be it... Maybe he thought this was all one big mistake and panicked? Well, if things weren't fucked up before...

“Nev, I… I’m sorry if this's not what you—”

Nev holds up a hand to him, and like magic, Max’s lips snap to a close. He takes about a minute to himself to regulate his composure, and the other male allows him without a second interruption.

“Don’t apologize, Max. It's not you, or _this_ , I..." Nev waits to see if the right words will come to him, and they do not, so he presses his lips to a line and resets, " _please_ , listen to me. I really, _really_ need you to leave. I just... I need a minute here.”

Nev’s not yelling or being irrational anymore, and that is unquestionably a good sign for Max. If the man says he needs space, then who is he to get in the way of that? They can always discuss things later. He figures he needs a little breather, too, 'cause it's not every day that you fiercely make out with your best friend, partner and co-host. That's starting to sink in really deep.

“If that’s what you really need from me, then alright. I’ll leave. But you have to promise me that you’ll call me later.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll call you,” Nev replies, not to Max but to his feet, nodding.

“You promise?”

Nev looks a little flustered, and it makes Max smile. He daintily makes a few more steps in his direction, sustaining adequate room for Nev to breathe.

“I promise.”

“I wanna hear you say it.”

That annoyance swiftly gives rise to an impish smile on Nev’s mouth—which causes Max to relax a little more—and he pulls his eyes from the floor to give them to his partner.

“I _promise_ to call you, Max,” he commits with refreshing, familiar charm.

“You better. I’ll be waiting.”

Max seriously debates on whether or not it's too soon in their relationship(?) to be giving parting kisses, and he sounds ridiculous. He and Nev were sucking lips less than three minutes ago, so a simple kiss shouldn’t be asking for much… Plus, he likes kissing Nev. Max leans in, suggesting the motion, but he's still a bit uncertain of the whole thing. Nev is grinning, sensibly aware of the nonsense bustling about in Max's head. If he wants to kiss him, he should kiss him, but naturally, Max will expend the energy gathering all of the foolish reasons why he shouldn't first and literally think himself out of it. Being the proactive one that he is, Nev decides he isn’t waiting for Max this time and steps up to the plate. He captures Max’s mouth gingerly. Twice. They’re sweet, grasping kisses.

Max forgets how to inhale.

Nev’s lips smoothly peel away, and he passes Max one of his Nev smiles.

“Thanks for the pancakes.”

He apparently forgets how to speak, too. His sense of taste still works, though, and it’s all aflare with the taste of Nev.

And blueberry syrup.

Lots of blueberry syrup.

 

TTIWTWHT

**Author's Note:**

> this was not supposed to be this long and i hate myself for it.
> 
> oh goodness thank you all very much for your sweet comments and kudos omg. you all have really helped me churn out this piece. the final part will not take nearly as long, maybe. life certainly happens ~~and i didn't forget about you baby anon!! i'm working right now~~
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this bit, and thank you again, anonnie~ once more, i don't [bite](http://chibichibiusaa.tumblr.com/ask)~~


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